One way to find out.
She decided first to put him at ease and end any of his suspicions that he might have been spotted. Without once more checking to see if he was there, she abruptly went down the concrete steps to a subway stop. She joined a crowd of people hurrying toward the turnstiles. The air was unnaturally still and heavy, as if an underground thunderstorm were due. Maybe someday New York would have one. As an escalator carried her even deeper belowground, she could hear the mournful, echoing notes of someone playing a harmonica not very well.
Not bothering to look up or down the platform, she waited about five minutes, then boarded a train.
She emerged aboveground from another stop four blocks from Jill's-and Jewel's-apartment building and strolled toward it. The sun was bright on the tinted windows of traffic headed past her at a crawl going the opposite direction, painting reflections of the street and sidewalk. When a large truck hissed its air brakes and slowly passed, she angled her stride slightly, moving toward the curb, so the reflection in its big side window gave her a brief but panoramic view of the block behind her.
She glimpsed the reflection she thought she might.
You're still there.
If some guy was following her simply because he liked her looks and was working up the nerve to approach her, he was going to a lot of trouble.
Not that I'm not worth it.
Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Great!
Quinn, maybe.
Pearl unobtrusively pulled the buzzing phone from her pocket and saw the number of Golden Sunset. She didn't want to talk to her mother now. She slid the phone back in her pocket.
It continued to vibrate. Pause. Vibrate.
After eight or ten steps she knew the phone was going to drive her nuts. She was sure her mother would let it vibrate ninety times before giving up and breaking the connection. Pearl could set the phone to kick over to voice mail, but she knew her mother would simply call back, maybe ninety times.
Not breaking stride, she removed the phone from her pocket again and flipped it open.
'Hello, Mom.'
'Pearl?'
'Who else would it be? You just called me.'
'Really? I thought I'd dialed the number of my friend Mrs. Kahn.' Pearl knew this was a lie. Her mother pressed on: 'Where were you, on the commode? Never mind. But speaking of Mrs. Kahn, how is your relationship going with her nephew Milton? I should say Doctor Milton Kahn. A girl could do worse-and here I know I get personal but why shouldn't I with my only daughter-than marry a successful dermatologist. And judging by my conversations with Mrs. Kahn, the aunt, Milton, the nephew, is successful in ways monetary as well as professional. She said he spent his early years in practice doing charitable work-which bespeaks a good heart, though we both know he has that-but now has a thriving practice with patients who pay. Has marriage so much as come up in a conversational manner? I think enough time has passed since your first meeting together that it would at the very least have been at some time a topic of casual conversation.'
'Do I get a turn to talk?' Pearl asked.
'That's what I've been asking you to do, dear. Tell me about the status of your relationship with Doctor Milton Kahn. Since it was I who, you might say, arranged-along with Mrs. Kahn, the aunt, of course-that you two lovebirds meet, I feel I have some right to ask the question. That is, about the status of your relationship in regards to matrimony.'
'I think Milt's a nice guy. That's where we're at.'
'You've said that before.'
'Well, it's still true. Mom, I'm-'
'I'm inquiring about the relationship not so much on a platonic plane. Where has it progressed to on-and here I attempt delicacy-more of a physical plane? In a successful relationship the line between the platonic and the physical isn't so noticeable as time and love work their-'
'Mom, I'm working.'
'Exactly my point, dear. Is that necessary? I mean, this pertains to my still unanswered question, wouldn't you agree?'
'No.' Pearl thought shock therapy might work. 'I'm being followed by a man with a gun.'
'Would it be likely in the slightest that the wife of Doctor Milton Kahn, renowned dermatologist, would even in this crazy world be followed by a man with a gun?'
'No,' Pearl had to admit. 'But I'm not anyone's wife, and I'm working, and you must understand that I don't have time to talk.'
'People are judged by the time they take to-'
Pearl broke the connection and switched off the phone.
Still without a glance behind her, Pearl briskly took the steps of the apartment building's entrance and pushed through the front door. There was no one in the outer lobby, no one in sight through the windowed door to the inner lobby that would show anyone about to exit the building.
She counted to five slowly, then spun on her heel and burst back out through the door and down the two concrete steps onto the sidewalk.
And came face-to-face with Ed Greeve.
45
Pearl hadn't seen Greeve in over a year, but recognized him immediately. He hadn't changed. Same narrow, stooped build; same black suit; same lugubrious expression. A born mortician who'd somehow become a cop. She knew his nickname, 'The Ghost,' and felt briefly proud that she'd been able to spot him on her tail.
He was puffing slightly as if he'd been running and had just skidded to a stop. She moved in close to him, catching a whiff of cheap cologne that reminded her of formaldehyde.
'Why are you following me?' She almost snarled the question.
Greeve didn't change expression, but he backed away a step. 'I just happened to see you on the street a few blocks back and wanted to say hello. You're a fast walker. I tried to catch up without breaking into a run.'
Pearl gave him a vicious grin that made it perfectly clear she knew he was talking bullshit.
That seemed to be okay with Greeve. There was no way for her to know for sure if he'd been deliberately tailing her. Certainly no way to prove it. He wasn't about to let this pint-sized pit bull take charge here.
He smiled and motioned toward the building. 'So who lives in there?'
'A friend.'
'Jill Clark?'
Pearl understood Greeve was letting her know that he'd followed her before, and that she was being observed. Trying to make her lose her temper so he could get on top in the conversation.
She didn't bite. 'Yes. Jill's an old friend. If she's home, you can meet her.' Letting Greeve know Jill wasn't home, or she wouldn't have extended the invitation.
He gave her his undertaker's smile-someday you'll be mine-and made a motion as if tipping his hat. 'Thanks anyway. Maybe some other time.'
'I don't want to catch you following me again,' Pearl said.
'You won't.'
He walked away without saying good-bye.
Pearl went back inside the building and became Jewel. She rode the elevator up to the eighth floor and her half-assed, barely habitable apartment.
The first thing she wanted to do was call Quinn, but almost as soon as she'd shut the door her cell phone began to buzz and vibrate in her pocket.
She took it out, flipped it open, and saw the phone number of Golden Sunset. Her mother again.
